Bleach

[tectak]

Very fresh raw write. If I could play guitar I would probably turn this into a song. Alas, I am a poet, not a musician.


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edit v. 2

How to describe how I feel some days,
trapped in this serotonin fucked haze...Unlike Addy I do not get, nor do I want to get the free-thought thing. As an ethos, that is my choice but as a critic I can still point out that there is a lack of continuity between stanza 1 and 2.....and I have only got to Stanza 2.

I guess it's true,
these thoughts of you,
I never understand,
still I try to withstand.This is a weak and fascile stanza. Not only does it not follow from S1 but of itself it says very little except that it shouldn't be here...or anywhere. The rhyme scheme is so forced that you have been caught in a mouse trap which you set yourself. The word "withstand" is no companion to anything else in the stanza. What on earth are you "withstanding". There is a precipitous certainty in L4 which just screams out "Help!". Once you set the trap with "understand" you were done for. The way to avoid springing a trap like his is not to set it in the first place. Try a rewrite without "understand" and at the same time try to pre-empt the meaning and ending of the couplet. Try:
I guess it's true,
these thoughts of you,
leave me confused,
distressed, abused.
..........or similar. The idea of being "confused" links to S1

Like when milk curdles in your tea,"like when" is chav-chat. Don't use it unless you are characterising a chav, innit. Try "I watch milk curdle in my tea and try too hard to feel carefree" to follow the previous train of bewildered thinking. The rest of this stanza can be similarly modified but it is your poem.
trying too hard to feel carefree,
smelling piss on the subway train,
getting stuck for hours in the rain.
It's the bird shit on your coat,What is "It"? You do not say or even imply.
and the phlegm stuck in your throat,
that important thing that you forgot,
and the moment when you're caught.regardless, a good three last lines. Glad to see the spelling correction. A Belgian Kiss is much like a French kiss.....but with more Flem

My best memories fast become lost,
such long nights come at this cost... ...and your point is? This is burst-verse. You probably didn't know you wrote it. So it won't matter if it disappears. It adds very little to the piece except unnecessary distraction; as distinct from deliberate distraction.

I want to cover my eyes,
pretend that I am wise,
nothing really makes sense,
real world is intense. Again, a good stanza in concept. If you could gather up the good bits and find tenable links between them you could get something good going on.

Weekends fucking with your head,
finding out your cat is dead,Why is this tragi-comedy? Not the best flavour. Fish in your fruit bowl, methinks
seeing fat when you are thin,
feeling shit in your own skin.
Losing even though you tried,
passing thoughts of suicide,
faking a smile when you feel shit,One shit OK. Two shits so soon, verbal diarrhea
the day you learn that this it. Perhaps an overdone theme in this stanza. It has been done so often that it is difficult to bring anything new. The only certainty is that when anyone attempts to capture the negativity of clinical (or circumstantial) depression, it is always written as though it is an entirely new and unique concept. That is the isolationism of depression. Why me? is the lonely cry. I have no answer for the aspiring poet who tries to "imagine" how the drug-addled, depressed character would feel or would express him/herself in a new way. I just avoid trying. Plenty of others will have a go....and they have.

Trying to figure out what love might mean,
when all emotions turn confused obscene...Huge adolescent cliche. This poem is becoming an interesting collection of minutiae which were it not for the random gathering could become a genre. List all of the profound (relative to your age) thoughts which you have/are having and write them down. Voila! A poem. Frankly, that is not too bad an idea. This is good. Please don't say it was your idea all along.....its mine, I tell you..all mine

Life can be so good,
I suppose that it should,
most problems self create,
born out of lies or hate. If you say so. No doubt you will back up this statement in the next stanza.

Becoming stuck with lots of debt, lies, all lies....er, sorry, I realy don't get it
shagging someone with regret,Hate...yes....that's it...HATE. Er...sorry, I still don't get it
having to work on your birthday,
the stink of your own tooth decay.
It's that infected paper cut,
or that shit feeling in your gut,Shitting again. Yep...HATE it when that happens. Unless it's a LIE
like not knowing how to really live,
and wanting more then they will give Ah...here they come. Its their fault. Those bloody thems are shits, aren't they. Them. Whoever they are. Constant cliche of the disposessed. Heartfelt no doubt but I have heard it all before. Anything new? Sorry. I am getting irritated by myself. Just try to read more poetry and you will see just how worn out this stanza is IN PRINCIPAL. You do, however, make some shrewd and EXCELLENT observations but they are lost due to the inconsistent profundity. Having to work on your birthday just doesn't say mature....yet your own stinking tooth decay and infected paper cut indicate experience way above the rest of the stanza. Very, very good observational effort. More of this and less of that.

I think most of us just want to be free,
such a shame that we can't seem to see,
because the cage is of nothing real,
made of our dissatisfied ideal. Weak and tired end piece. You gave up on yourself. Don't.
Best,
tectak

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Original version

Sometimes it's true,
these thoughts of you,
never will I understand,
still I try to withstand.

How to describe how I feel some days,
trapped in this serotonin fucked haze...

Like when milk curdles in your tea,
trying too hard to feel carefree,
smelling piss on the subway train,
getting stuck for hours in the rain.
It's the bird shit on your coat,
and the flem stuck in your throat,
cleaning burnt bits off the pan,
or getting caught out by the man.

I want to shut my eyes,
pretend that I am wise,
hope my words make sense,
this doubt held in suspense.

Such moments can fast become lost,
I start to wonder what it might cost...

Weekends fucking with your head,
finding out your cat is dead,
seeing fat when you are thin,
feeling shit in your own skin.
Losing even though you tried,
passing thoughts of suicide,
faking a smile when you feel shit,
the day you learn that this it.

Life can be so good,
I suppose that it should,
most problems self create,
born out of lies or hate.

Trying to figure out what love might mean,
with all emotion so confused and obscene...

Becoming stuck with lots of debt,
shagging someone with regret,
going to work on your birthday,
the stink of your own tooth decay.
It's that infected paper cut,
or that shit feeling in your gut,
like not knowing how to really live,
and wanting more then they will give.

I think most of us just want to be free,
such a shame that we can't seem to see,
because the cage is of nothing real,
it's only our fear and poor ideal.